


Waiting for the Tow

by jimikat



Series: You Asked Me Not To Leave [3]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimikat/pseuds/jimikat
Summary: When Caustic’s truck breaks down while helping Elliott pick up a shipment for his bar, the two find themselves in the middle of nowhere and a few hours to kill while waiting for a tow.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Series: You Asked Me Not To Leave [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183118
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Waiting for the Tow

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third fic in an ongoing Caustage series; be sure to read the other two! 🥰

Caustic has been glaring at the lifeless dials on his truck’s console for nearly two solid minutes now. Perhaps daring them, Elliott thinks, to continue to disobey him.

Another attempt at turning the key in the ignition merely results in the sputtering whine of the engine, which refuses to turn over. Caustic hisses a string of profanities as he slams a fist on the dash. Elliott winces. He’s been on the receiving end of such a blow numerous times in the games. He doesn’t envy the poor dashboard.

“Do you think it needs—”

“If you inquire about fuel levels one more time, Witt, I will force the remaining contents of the tank down your throat,” Caustic growls, ripping the keys from the ignition and throwing them irritably onto the dash.

“Sorry… yeah, right…” Elliott says meekly, peering out the window of the truck. The abandoned stretch of road lit by the headlights stretches out and fades into the inky blackness of remote countryside. Elliott is grateful, at least, for that beam of light, ensuring that small element of grounding.

That is, until Caustic flicks the headlights off.

And that darkness presses in, and Elliott begins to realize just how black a night can be. Elliott scrambles for the cab lights, blindly trying to find the switch above, reminding himself that he isn’t afraid of the dark. There’s nothing out there. Probably. But honestly, why push your luck.

“What are you doing?” Caustic asks, his face barely lit by the moon’s feeble light, but the skeptical brow clear enough.

“Uh, lights? Yeah, lights would be good. Not that I need them. I’m not afraid of the dark. It’s just pretty dark. And it’s kinda creepy out here. Can we—”

“Fine, fine, enough babbling,” Caustic grumbles, reaching a hand up to the cab lights, his fingers brushing Elliott’s hand as he flicks the lights on. The cab fills with a close, yellow glow, and Elliott can feel the tension that had gathered in his shoulders sink away just a little.

“No worries, just uh… you know. Little dark out there. Not used to the dark. Solace City never really seems to get this dark, huh?” Elliott laughs feebly, to which Caustic only grunts a small affirmative. “So, uh… what now?”

“I don’t suppose you are proficient in more than just holographic technology?” Caustic asks, glancing over at Elliott. The younger man shrugs.

“I, uh, I used to know how to change oil? I mean, I did it once with my brother Roger. Actually, I mostly just watched him.”

Caustic grunts, sinking deeper into the cab seat, the ancient leather creaking and groaning under him.

“Most excellent… A tow is in order, then, it seems.” Caustic grumbles, rubbing his temple. He pulls out his phone and makes the arrangements, resulting in an estimated arrival slated for several hours from now. As he hangs up the phone, he runs his hand through already slicked back hair.

“What a mess,” he sighs. “Will your shipment be fine for the time it takes to get assistance?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all just booze, and the weather is pretty good. It’ll be fine back there,” Elliott says, glancing behind them into the bed of the truck, just to be sure. Nearly a dozen crates are neatly arranged and tied down.

The deal had been good. Too good, it turns out. This new supplier had failed him at every turn after the initial order, delivering the shipment a week late to the wrong bar. In some hodunk town hours outside of Solace City. The whole planet has one city, how could they possibly mess that up... And on top of that, they expected Elliott to make arrangements to pick it up.

He definitely would not be a repeat customer.

Though… the deal _had_ been good…

“Thanks, by the way,” Elliott muses with a weak grin. “For offering your truck, and the ride and everything. You’re always swoopin’ in with the well-timed help, huh, big guy?”

Caustic grunts. “Your plans to rent a vehicle for such a distance would be financially unwise when there were more affordable solutions.”

Elliott cocks a brow at the man, and Caustic finally sighs. “I was happy to lend assistance,” he adds, his tone softened, the words tumbling around in Elliott’s mind. And then it’s quiet. Awkwardly quiet. And Elliott actually manages to let the silence sit for a few more moments, trying to convince himself that this is fine, before he can’t help but break it.

“So, uh, how long is it supposed to take for someone to get here?”

“I was quoted at least two hours,” Caustic groans, and even the irritation in his voice can’t hide the apologetic tone.

“Great,” Elliott says, without a trace of sarcasm. He rubs his hands together with a gleeful grin. “Whaddya say we get some refreshments?”

Caustic cocks a brow at him. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite pack for a picnic.”

“Not to worry, buddy!” Elliott beams, patting Caustic’s thigh. The younger seems unfazed by the touch, while Caustic’s every muscle tightens in surprise, loosening again with the sudden loss when Elliott pulls his hand back. “I just so happened to have brought a bar’s worth of booze.”

Elliott winks and heaves the truck’s door open. He hesitates, the cab’s light casting a limited stream of light into the barren surroundings. He gathers himself, turns on his phone’s flashlight, then hops out of the truck with more confidence than he feels. He rounds his way back to the truck bed and hoists himself up, shoving back the feeling that he is exposed out here, and willing himself to show a little guts and not just hop back into the cab.

Caustic watches it all through the mirrors, an irritating mix of exasperation and amusement melding as he watches the young man. He forces the smile tugging at his lips to subside before sliding out of his own seat. He digs behind the truck’s seat and pulls out a blanket, then joins Elliott outside.

“You realize I’m going to have to turn off the cab lights?” Caustic calls back to him. “I’d rather not add a dead battery to the list of ailments when the tow arrives.”

“Oh… yeah. Um, go for it, I guess,” Elliott says, his voice tightening only a little.

 _Hapless idiot,_ Caustic thinks, his face a soft smile. He clicks off the little light in the cab, sending them back into the darkness of a night lit only by a feeble moon and the cold glow of Elliott’s phone.

Caustic rounds the truck bed to find the trickster rifling through a crate. Elliott mutters something to himself, shaking his head, moving along to another crate. Same thing, this time Caustic can hear him murmur, “Nah, too cheap. Gotta… There we go.”

Elliott hoists the lid from the crate, pulling out a carefully packed bottle with a triumphant flourish. He hands it to Caustic.

“There we go! This one isn’t too bad, some might even say top o’ the line. I mean, it’s no Witt’s Whiskey, but...” Elliott grins.

Caustic examines the bottle, unfamiliar with the brand. “ _Not too bad_ and _top of the line_ are a far cry from one another, Elliott.”

Elliott opens his mouth to retort but Caustic chucks the blanket up at his face. He sputters and scrambles to catch it. “Whassit?”

“I thought the night air might be more pleasant than the dingy cab,” Caustic says, gripping the side of the truck bed, planting a foot firmly on the bumper, and hoisting himself up. Elliott watches with an ill-veiled interest as Caustic’s biceps bulge against the sleeves of his jacket, as sturdy legs swing up and over the tailgate. The truck bed sinks heavily with Caustic’s considerable size; Elliott stabilizes himself against a crate.

“Shall we have a seat?” Caustic asks, nodding towards the blanket.

“Oh! Uh, yeah!” Elliott says, taking the cue and spreading the blanket down on the only cleared portion of the truck bed. They both lower themselves down, nestled between a little fort of crates filled with glass and spirits, Elliott’s phone set nearby with it’s light still on.

Caustic twists the top of the bottle, pressing the glass mouth to his lips and taking a draw. The warmth that fills his chest spreads to his extremities, and he finds himself exhaling a pleased sigh.

“Not bad, Witt,” he muses, examining the bottle before passing it to Elliott. The trickster follows suit, his posture sinking into relieved comfort as he releases a matching sigh. Caustic shifts, sliding his hand into his jacket’s pocket, emerging with a beat-up pack of rather expensive cigarettes. “Do you mind?” he asks, holding them up.

“No, uh, have at it. That, uh, good for your lungs and stuff?” Elliott queries, immediately feeling like an idiot for the question. “I just mean, you’re always coughing and—”

“The fumes of my experiments will kill me long before the cigarettes. Might as well enjoy the vice while I can,” Caustic chuckles, though Elliott can’t quite find the mirth in the sentiment, or even its level of sincerity. Caustic draws a little matchbook from an inner pocket of his jacket, ripping one free and pressing its head between his thumb and the lighter strip. The sudden flare of light at the tip of the match flashes against Caustic’s features, and Elliott can’t tear his eyes from the reserved calm on the older man’s face, his features in sharp relief with the little match’s glow. He lights his cigarette, puffing softly and shaking the match’s flame out.

With a long exhale, a roiling cloud of smoke pours from Caustic’s lips as he relaxes back against the crates behind him. After a moment, Caustic realizes Elliott’s hungry eyes on him. The corner of his lips twitch, and he takes another draw from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to roll out slowly.

“I can’t quite tell if that eager look is meant for me or the cigarette,” Caustic chuckles, before offering it to Elliott. The trickster shakes his head, his shoulders hunching.

“Naw, I’m good. Sorry. Guess I was… That’s, uh, it’s just that your face, uh, I mean that you seemed like—”

“Perhaps,” Caustic interrupts, balancing his cigarette between two fingers while reaching to take the whiskey from Elliott. “Perhaps for now we enjoy the heat of this whiskey in our chests and simply listen to the nature around us.”

 _What a way to tell me to shut up,_ Elliott thinks, grateful the near darkness hides his embarrassed flush. They settle into silence, the soft drone of night-touched countryside gradually becoming more obvious. Crickets chirp in pulsing rhythms, a soft breeze through distant trees rustles layers of leaves. And Elliott starts to think maybe it isn’t so bad out here, maybe the darkness isn’t quite so oppressive.

“Turn off your phone’s light, Elliott. I’d like this chance to see the stars.”

“Uh, we can see ‘em fine like this, right?”

“Turn off the light.” Caustic adds a bit of a commanding rumble into the softly-spoken words. He swears he hears a soft moan escape Elliott’s lips before the man passes Caustic the bottle and scrambles for the phone, tapping its surface and killing the little light.

And Elliott thought they’d be plunged into pitch black. But of course the moon still sits high in the sky, whispering her secrets to the countryside below. And as his eyes adjust, he sees something he hasn’t seen in quite a while. The night sky starts to sparkle and fill with endless arrays of stars.

“Wow…” Elliott says, words barely a breath over his lips. “Don’t see those in the city, huh?”

“You most certainly do not,” Caustic hums, tilting his head back to survey the stars above them. Even after all his time on Solace, the patterns of the stars here are still a mystery to him. He allows a smile to slowly spread across his lips, and were he paying attention he would have realized quite how broad and sincere it was becoming, and quite how closely Elliott was watching him.

“What’s on your mind?” Elliott asks, his tone amused and eager, desperate to be in on whatever joke Caustic is enjoying. The older man heaves a pleased sigh, taking another drought of whiskey before handing it back to Elliott.

“When I was young, I was quite enamoured with the stars,” Caustic begins, tilting his head back once more. “We… had a farm on Gaea. I would go out at night, lay down in the yard or the fields and just… watch them. Learned the constellations. Pictures and stories spread out above me. And in some way I suppose they kept me grounded.”

Caustic hesitates, his expression falling, eyes losing some of the bright enthusiasm they had just a moment ago. Elliott is about to ask if he’s alright, but the doctor adds quietly, “Different pictures here, of course. Stories I never learned. I feel… lost. Looking at a sky I don’t recognize. It is… more difficult to find that grounding.”

Elliott scoots closer, hips barely touching. Caustic stiffens, glancing at Elliott, but the engineer tries not to think about it. He taps fingertips against Caustic’s thigh, then raises his hand up, pointer finger outstretched, directing the man’s gaze back to the stars.

“You see that bright one there? The one above the string of four?” Elliott shifts the direction of his point slightly to the right. “The bright one’s the head of the wolf, uh… Dang, I can’t really remember its name. But it got killed, I think, protecting the sword of its master. Those four stars in a row are the sword. And over there...” Elliot shifts, leaning against Caustic’s side as his arm crosses over front him, attempting to direct his attention to the right.

But Caustic’s gaze lingers instead on Elliott, taking in the upturn of his heavy brows, the light of nostalgia glinting across caramel eyes, the slight part of full lips as they twist up in a smile. He rips his attention from the man, opting to follow Elliott’s index finger as intended before he is caught staring in what is feeling far too much like adulation.

“... Over there. That’s, uh… right, that’s one of the twins? Uh, I think the other one is… somewhere around there.” Elliott swings his arm to another part of the sky, then another, floundering for a moment before shrugging. “Eh. I dunno. They got separated at birth and fought all sorts of monsters to reunite. Wish I could remember the names… Ricky and Elon woulda remembered, they loved that story… Oh!” He nearly smacks Caustic as he points to a spot just past the man’s head. “But those three stars over there? That’s the fox that, uh, guides people to their destinies. Sometimes it's death, sometimes it’s fortune, and sometimes it’s love. Y’see?”

Again, Caustic doesn’t look. Try as he might to resist, his eyes have drifted back to Elliott, and he finds his gaze quite impossible to redirect. And in a move he can barely control, a move in which he chooses not to overanalyze, he takes Elliott’s outstretched hand in his, pressing the younger Legend’s palm against his lips.

“I see,” Caustic rumbles deeply, his breath hot against Elliott’s hand. Elliott blinks at him, face flushing as his eyes soften from the enthusiasm a second prior.

“Your beard,” Elliott laughs weakly, unable to resist his body’s gentle sway into the larger man. “Kinda tickles.”

They both freeze for a moment, Caustic’s thumb rubbing soft circles into Elliott’s palm. Elliott gathers a breath to say something, but Caustic quickly releases his hand and looks away, turning his head to cough into his shoulder.

“Perhaps we’ve had quite enough to drink,” Caustic says, shifting away from the younger man.

“I… didn’t say I minded…” Elliott murmured, at the same moment as Caustic began to stand. “W-wait, you don’t have to get up! Stay?”

Caustic stops, hesitates, but slowly lowers himself back down into the truck bed. Elliott pushes the bottle of whiskey back towards him.

“We don’t exactly have anything better to be doing. Might as well relax.”

Caustic hesitates, eyeing the bottle. Knowing he shouldn’t. He can feel how little resolve he has left to resist taking full advantage of this dark, abandoned stretch of road. But Elliott gives the bottle a little shake, a hopeful expression on his face. Caustic sighs, acquiesces, and takes the bottle from the trickster. He takes a long draught of the whiskey before handing it back for Elliott to do the same.

And they sit in silence. It’s a silence that Caustic finds to be quite comfortable. And one that gnaws at Elliott’s insides until he feels itchy and shaky and eventually can’t help but open his mouth to find words spilling out of it.

“So what is this?”

Elliott snaps his mouth shut again, but his eyes dart to Caustic. The man is still casually staring forward, brows only slightly furrowed, as if he’s merely annoyed the pleasant silence had been broken.

“What is what.”

“Uh… this.” Elliott gestures at the space between the two of them, an albeit slim amount of space. “I just… look, picking up on subtle clues isn’t exactly my strong suit. But like… we sort of made out a few weeks ago and then just… nothing? Like… not even a sideways glance during the games. And I guess I just… wanna know. What this… uh, is? You know what, nevermind, sorry, this was dumb, I’m just gonna--”

Elliott shifts forward as if to stand, but Caustic’s hand on his thigh makes him stop. He swallows, leans back against the truck cab, and tries to make his heart stop racing. Caustic’s hand doesn’t move.

“I… am not certain,” Caustic says. And that’s all he says. And for a moment Elliott thinks maybe that’s all he’s ever going to say, and that the question would forever remain unanswered. But after a pause that felt an eternity, Caustic continues. “I am accustomed to being alone for the most part, Elliott. I enjoy being alone. Prefer it, generally. But, for the past few weeks, I…” He hesitates, draws his hand back from Elliott’s thigh, clenching his hands in his own lap. “I find it to be… less than ideal. Agonizing, even. And when I’m in your vicinity in the games, or the press gatherings after, it is even worse. Because amidst a group I feel alone even when I am not, because I’m--”

Caustic finds the words hard to say. Though clear in his mind, the speaking of them is difficult. More difficult than he expected.

“Yeah?” Elliott prompts, and the pushiness of it is an irritant that makes Caustic spit out the final words.

“Because I’m not with you.” Caustic looks away with a snort, rumbling, “Which is irritating, as I find you to be quite obnoxious.”

The words hit Elliott with a thrill in his chest. The thought that Caustic has been suffering, in some small way, because of how he feels about him fuels an ego that is hard to keep steady without _Mirage_ to lean back on. He can feel that smarmy, shit-eating grin begin to spread over his face, but as he looks at Caustic, it begins to fade. The doctor’s head is still turned away from him, staring off into the nothingness of the distant night, but even in the dim light Elliott swears he can see a pink hue grow on the man’s freckled cheeks. Maybe it’s just his imagination… Elliott rolls his lips, holding back the teasing words he’d had ready.

“That’s… kinda sweet, actually,” Elliott says quietly.

He waits, watching the small portion of Caustic’s face he can see. Caustic glances towards him eventually, as if forcing himself to turn back, eyes full of conflict and longing. He takes a slow, laboured breath, closing his eyes and holding the air before releasing it in a shuddering stream. When he turns his eyes back to Elliott, they are clear. Detached.

“I don’t need to warn you about myself, Elliott. You know full well the sort of person I am.”

Elliott shrugs. “I… guess I always assumed most of it was an act. You know. To keep people away.”

“It isn’t,” Caustic says, his voice even, flat. “I understand many of our coworkers struggled, at least at first, with the nature of the games. The violence. I do not. How does that make you feel?”

“Like maybe you’re lying,” Elliott says, trying to flash a grin, but finds it coming up a little hollow.

“I’m not. And the ring isn’t the only location in which I’ve taken a life. How does _that_ make you feel?”

Elliott opens his mouth, trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter, but he can’t quite formulate a response that is believable enough for himself, let alone Caustic.

“Precisely,” Caustic continues. “I’ve killed you many times, Elliott. I’ve enjoyed killing you. I don’t regret doing it. Sometimes I wonder what it might be like to choke the life out of you without the safety of a respawn chamber to breathe that life back into you.”

Elliott stares at him blankly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows heavily. “You’re… not serious.”

Caustic only shrugs, reaching for the whiskey bottle gripped tightly in Elliott’s hands. He takes a draw from it, letting the alcohol run past his lips and down his throat.

“It doesn’t change how I feel about you,” Caustic says slowly, weighing the words the same way he is weighing the contents of the bottle. “Doesn’t change the fact that I find you pleasing to look at, nor that I find myself longing for your company more than I would care to admit.”

Elliott shifts uncomfortably, leaning forward and drawing his knees to his chest. “Why are you saying all of this?”

“Because despite the fact that I want you, I… acknowledge that I am not… ideal. And I don’t wish to…” Caustic pauses, sniffs with irritation as he stoppers the whiskey and sets it down. And that’s when Elliott sees it. The slip of the mask. His gaze flicking up to Elliott’s eyes and lingering just a moment too long. He coughs, looks down again. “I don’t wish to provide an honest answer to your question, and risk misrepresenting the sort of person I am.”

The younger Legend holds back a grin. He looks down at his feet, flexing his toes until the press against the edges of his boot, and back again. “Honestly, Doc? I’ve seen the kind of person you are. And I, uh… I kinda think the guy who kissed me back at my bar, the guy who made me soup when I was sick? I think that guy is just as much a part of you as, you know… the guy who beats my brains out in front of a camera. And that, um… that’s not really a sticking point for me. Ya know?”

Caustic realizes, in that moment, he wasn’t prepared for such a thing. He had prepared himself for rejection, for Elliott to do the sensible thing and back off now. Back out while he still could. He had not been prepared for this. For warm brown eyes gazing into citrine green, for full, soft lips to twist into a smile so sweet that Caustic could think of nothing but tasting them.

So he reaches for him, sliding a large, calloused hand back along Elliott’s neck, drawing him forward. He presses his lips to Elliott’s, and they are still just as soft and delicious as Caustic remembered. They part easily, greedily, willing the older Legend to press further into him. Caustic concedes, flicking Elliott’s tongue with his own, relishing his warmth, the taste of whiskey on him.

Almost too easily, Elliott slides into Caustic’s lap, hands running back through the scientist’s dark hair. Caustic’s own hands settle at Elliott’s waist, sliding beneath the jacket, running along the curve of his back, up along his spine. Elliott responds to the touch, rocking forward against him, as if hoping to simply pick up where they’d left off so many weeks ago. Caustic’s hip raise up, longing to feel as much of that movement as he can.

Elliott moans into his mouth as he rocks forward roughly, his own arousal pressing against Caustic’s, chasing that friction, desperate to feel him. Caustic’s hands on the young man’s waist tighten, feeling his muscles move beneath his palms, his body undulating with a lovely mix of grace and desperation.

And Caustic feels like he knows what this is, what Elliott is to him, though words can’t quite construe it. It is the grounding of earth, the familiarity of stars, the comfort of home. It’s everything good that had been lost to him, somehow rolled into an insecure but sincere heart, knowing the kind of man Caustic is and still choosing to stay.

And Caustic wants him. All of him. Right here, in the darkness, under endless constellations he doesn’t recognize; beneath long-told stories he doesn’t know, but is happy to learn. As long as Elliott is the one to tell them.

“Caustic?” Elliott breathes, hands sliding down from Caustic’s unkempt locks, gathering either side of his jacket in a quaking grip.

“Hmm?” Caustic sighs, bucking his hips up against the rhythm of the young man’s undulations.

“How long did the tow truck say he’d be?”

Caustic grins, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Elliott’s torso. “Hours,” he purrs, feeling Elliott’s dick twitch even beneath so many layers of clothing.

“Hey Caustic?”

“What, Witt?”

“I’m glad you’ve got such a shitty truck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Twitter (18+): @jimikatdraws


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